I Only Have Eyes for You
by Marianne Greenleaf
Summary: When Marian comes across an unsettling memento from her husband's former life, she discovers how difficult it can be to overlook his past affairs when confronted with actual proof of them. And it doesn't help matters that Harold is away on business...
1. An Unpleasant Discovery

_My love must be a kind of blind love  
I can't see anyone but you  
And dear, I wonder if you find love  
An optical illusion, too?_

_Are the stars out tonight?  
I don't know if it's cloudy or bright  
'Cause I only have eyes for you, dear  
The moon may be high  
But I can't see a thing in the sky  
'Cause I only have eyes for you._

_I don't know if we're in a garden  
Or on a crowded avenue  
You are here, so am I  
Maybe millions of people go by  
But they all disappear from view  
And I only have eyes for you._

_~Harry Warren and Al Dubin, 1934_

XXX

Harold Hill tried to delay for as long as he could, but on one fair, mid-May afternoon in 1914, when the blossoms were just starting to unfurl and perfume the warm spring air with their delightful scents, the music professor realized it was time to leave River City.

The need for a business trip to Des Moines to find a new uniform supplier for the River City boys' band became embarrassingly clear after a dress rehearsal for the upcoming Fourth of July exercises. Not a single boy in the band had a coat or pair of pants that wasn't patched, worn or faded in some way. Nearly two years after he established the music emporium, Harold was still ordering the same flimsy uniforms as he had when he first came to town. When he was merely a conman whose main interest lay in collecting his commission and skipping town as fast as he could, quality suppliers hadn't been a consideration. And when his business was in its fledgling stage, he had to be frugal. But now that Professor Hill was no longer a charlatan and business was booming, he no longer had to skimp and get the cheapest available. But as much as Harold wanted to make good on his original promise to the boys that they would have pants with jolly red stripes on the sides of the legs, such a task would have required him to do the arduous legwork himself. There was no store in town that provided what the emporium needed and, if the music professor was to switch uniform suppliers, he wasn't going to buy their goods sight unseen.

In truth, Harold really should have attended to this matter last spring, after the conclusion of the Easter parade. Mr. Gallup from the _Des Moines Register__ and Leader_ had returned to River City to write an update on the Think System's progress. Although Easter fell early that year (on March twenty-third, to be exact), and the weather was somewhat chilly, the parade had been another grand success for Professor Harold Hill's Music Emporium. Mr. Gallup was duly impressed with the performance and, despite the reporter's lingering, pesky fondness for River City's librarian, Harold had not been nearly as on edge this time – especially after witnessing his would-be rival's reaction to learning that Marian was now to be addressed as "Mrs. Hill." It had been as a good as a play to see the incongruous mixture of genuine approval mingled with wistful regret in the man's expression – although he soon recovered and gave the couple a broad smile and hearty congratulations.

But Harold wasn't foolish enough to relax too much around his former nemesis. Marian was in the earliest days of her pregnancy and remained blissfully unaware of her condition – and despite his suspicions, the music professor had thought it best not to presume anything for the time being, as he was also inexperienced in such matters. However, Mr. Gallup was a worldly man who had the uncanny knack of perceiving what others often missed. The reporter's subtle remarks about the librarian's "radiant" appearance and polite inquiries regarding her health did not necessarily alarm the music professor – his wife, as yet, was still naïve enough as to take no notice of these furtive hints – but it did remind him that the mealy-mouthed reporter had always been far too observant for comfort.

Thankfully, Mr. Gallup discovered nothing meriting censure, and had written another glowing article commending the Think System – but he also managed to get in his usual sly dig, this time about the threadbare state of the uniforms. Although Harold forgave the reporter for this slight after the article ended up netting the emporium sizeable donations from philanthropic-minded individuals across the state, he didn't do anything more than set the funds aside in a separate account. As it turned out, Marian _was_ pregnant, and the music professor had far more important matters to attend to than gallivanting around Iowa looking for new clothes. And even after Penny and Elly were born, he still found excuses to delay this task. It was hard enough to tear himself away from his beloved daughters in order to go to work; Harold could barely fathom leaving town, even if such an excursion would only take two weeks at most. But he couldn't put it off any longer – he had to go.

When the music professor arrived home to the welcoming sight of his wife waiting for him on their front porch – Marian had decided to take advantage of the warm weather to do her mending outside – he decided it would be best to deliver the sad news to her immediately, as he was planning to leave on the first train tomorrow so everything would be settled well before the Fourth of July concert.

To Harold's relief, Marian took the news pretty well – in fact, she did not look the slightest bit surprised. "I'd been wondering when you were going to do that," she said as she packed away her mending and stood up from the porch swing. "While you're at it, you might also want to look into a new instrument supplier as well. Upon reviewing the books for April, I noticed that we've been having a lot of trouble with damaged shipments lately – and I don't think they're all Wells Fargo's fault."

Harold nodded. "Yes, Tommy said something similar just last week. But I hate to leave our girls – they're not even a year old yet!" He took the librarian's hands in his. "And this will be the first time you and I have ever been separated for so long."

"I know," Marian replied, her understanding smile tinged with wistfulness as she gave his hands a little squeeze in return. However, ever the sensible woman, she added, "But the sooner you complete the task of getting new suppliers, the sooner you won't have to worry about it."

Harold lifted her hands to his lips so he could plant a kiss on them. "I suppose it's silly of me to be so anxious about leaving, as I spent the majority of my life traveling all over the country and enjoying a nomadic existence. But here I am bemoaning a brief business trip a short distance away from my permanent residence!" he observed with a chuckle. "It's amazing how much a man can change in only two short years."

The librarian laughed. "I was just thinking the same thing." Moving closer and laying her head on his shoulder, she softly added, "And I was also thinking that I'm going to miss you terribly."

Harold wrapped his arm around Marian's waist, and they gazed at the sky for a few moments. Even though it was still fairly light outside, Venus was shining magnificently in the heavens. The music professor turned to whisper in his wife's ear, "Darling – do you see the Evening Star?"

"Of course," she said quietly.

Kissing a loose curl that had escaped her chignon and was now resting against her cheek, Harold told her, "Every night, I'll be looking at it in Des Moines and thinking of you. So when you see the Evening Star in the sky in River City, think of me."

Marian smiled at him. "I already do, Harold – I always have."

He pulled her into a hug, and husband and wife stood in a silent embrace for a long time. Even though Harold wasn't due to leave until tomorrow morning, he and Marian held each other with the same wistful fervor as they did when they were courting and had to bear the unpleasant inevitability of finally letting go of each other and saying goodnight.

XXX

While Harold was away, Marian decided it was high time she complete a chore she had been putting off for far too long: cleaning out the attic. This was something the librarian had wanted to do ever since she took up residence in the charming Victorian, but one thing or another had always prevented her from achieving this goal. In her one-and-a-half years of living in this house, Marian had made several attempts to begin the arduous task of sorting through the piles, but somehow, she never got very far before some pressing family, work or community-related commitment forced her to abandon her efforts. And sometimes she allowed herself to be distracted by some not-so-pressing diversions; there was a certain alcove of the attic she still couldn't look at without blushing and giggling a little.

But this was a chore whose completion was long overdue; the home's predecessors had left several things behind and, of course, Harold had been content to let the detritus linger. So even with friends and family kindly looking after the twins for the time being, it took Marian several days of hard work to reclaim their attic. And to her disappointment, there really wasn't anything from the former owners worth sparing – the old clothes were too soiled to be used even as rags, the personal papers were so mildewed they were practically illegible, and none of the furniture was useful or even to her taste. And to her amusement and exasperation, Marian discovered just how much her disorganized husband had added to this pile during the past few years. His mind too fixed on grand dreams to deal with such mundane matters as housekeeping, the music professor apparently had developed the bad habit of depositing in the attic anything that he no longer needed but was not outright garbage.

Although there were times she was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer scope of this undertaking, Marian persevered and, a little over a week after Harold had left, the attic was finally empty of extraneous clutter. The librarian had engaged the services of Tommy Djilas and a few of his friends to haul away the trash and deliver the furniture to its new owners. After they departed, there was only one more pile of various odds and ends to go through. One of the items was Harold's old valise from his traveling salesman days. Although the garish _PROF. __HAROLD HILL_ on the side was now faded and the paint was chipping off in several places, the case itself was still in good condition, and perhaps salvageable enough for her husband to take on future business trips.

Opening the valise, Marian felt a warm twinge of nostalgia upon seeing her husband's former tools of the trade: several crumpled uniform and instrument order forms, a pile of yellowed posters proclaiming _GET A NEW LEASE ON LIFE BY JOINING PROF. HAROLD HILL'S BAND_, a canister half-filled with dried-out glue, a broken baton, and various feathers and spangles. There were even a few articles of clothing Harold had apparently overlooked as he unpacked and set up house – in the midst of the jumble, Marian came across the odd sock or two. And not all of them were empty – at the bottom of the case, there was a long, black sock containing what looked to be a pack of playing cards. Laughing at her husband's haphazard way of storing things, Marian reached into the sock to draw out its contents for closer examination.

When the librarian saw just what the sock contained, her good humor immediately fled. It wasn't a pack of playing cards at all; instead, she was clutching what looked to be a stack of risqué burlesque photographs. For a moment, Marian simply stared at the pile of pictures in a stunned daze – although she soon felt herself flushing extremely crimson as she reflected that if she had explored the trunk a mere fifteen minutes before, Tommy and the other boys would also have witnessed what she stumbled upon. And this wasn't a discovery she would have liked to make around her mother – let alone five teenage boys! They would tell their friends and perhaps even their beaus, the girls would tell their mothers… and the music professor and librarian would be in the midst of a scandal much worse than a few stray hairpins. Even if Harold wasn't prosecuted for violating obscenity laws, the mere rumors of him possessing such materials could tarnish his hard-won reputation as a revered public figure of good moral character. And as Marian was his wife and therefore responsible for keeping their domestic abode tidy and upright, such carelessness would reflect badly on her as well. It would therefore be in both of their best interests for her to destroy these photographs immediately.

Instead, the librarian found herself leafing through the pictures, her stomach churning all the more unpleasantly when she noted that every single one of the women were not only gorgeous – or at least painted heavily enough to give the illusion of glamour – they were all completely nude. And given the heavy creases and fingerprint smudges, it was clear her husband had referred to these photographs quite often during his travels. Although she hardly dared look at any one image for too long, her secretarial tendencies quickly led her to observe that the stack contained exactly twenty-two pictures. What made it even worse was that approximately two thirds of those pictures were autographed, implying that these were women whom Harold had personally known – in every sense of the word.

But this should have been the least of what bothered Marian. By now, she was well aware of her husband's sordid past, and she wasn't so naïve as to think it unusual that a former womanizer and charlatan would have possessed such a collection. Nor was it out of the ordinary that, in his tendency to overlook organization, Harold hadn't gotten around to discarding these items. Ultimately, he had chosen to give himself entirely to her, and that's what truly mattered. Better to be more concerned about the trouble such materials could incur for them – she really needed to destroy these photographs!

But potential legal and social ramifications aside, it was still rather jarring to see actual proof of her husband's avid carnal appetites for other women. There was one photograph in particular that especially irked Marian: a tall, willowy brunette with heavy-lidded, seductive eyes. The picture was signed in a confident, ostentatious hand: _This should tide you over till next time, honey! Kisses, Clara_. The librarian scowled – how many such shameless hussies did her husband consort with for whom he _didn't_ have photographs to remember them by? And why did he carelessly leave these photographs behind for his wife to discover, in the first place? Heaven forbid Harold be a little more mindful of his possessions and realize that eventually she was bound to find these pictures in the midst of her cleaning – as such, he should have had the decency to get rid of them! After all, he certainly had plenty of time in which to do so.

The more Marian thought about the matter, the less she was inclined to let this lapse go unmentioned. She would not destroy these photographs and ignore her discovery. For years, she had been trying to impress upon Harold the importance of keeping better track of his things – perhaps these salacious mementos would be just what she needed to make that lesson stick. Stuffing the offending photographs back into their sock, Marian marched downstairs with her bundle and stowed it deep in the drawer of her bedside table.

XXX

If Harold had come home that evening, Marian was certain they would have worked things out quickly. But he wasn't due back in River City for at least another week or two, leaving plenty of time for the seed of anxiety to take root and grow. Even though the librarian managed to keep busy with her children, committees and work duties, the unpleasant discovery in the attic lingered in the back of her mind. After ensuring the photographs were safely stored in a place even the most meddlesome of Mrs. Shinn's ladies would never dare peek, Marian hadn't so much as opened the drawer where they were hidden. But the images were seared into her memory all the same; Clara's smug visage and brazen inscription haunted her dreams.

Not even Harold's daily telegrams could chase these phantoms away – as constant as her husband's communications were, they were maddeningly brief and utterly devoid of romance. Of course, the rational part of Marian knew that such brevity saved him money and, in any case, it was foolish to be too personal when River City's post office was rife with nosy eavesdroppers. But the sentimental part of her longed for a lengthy missive explicitly detailing his ardent devotion to her, a passionate epistle that made her heart and stomach flutter when she read and reread it. Even Harold's weekly letter, in which he had more space and a modicum of privacy in which to elaborate on his activities, was a tad too business-oriented for her tastes.

But even then, Marian might have been able to overlook her sense of pique. That is, if Harold had come home when he initially promised. But on the day he was due to arrive on the afternoon train – a good three weeks after he left – the librarian received a telegram informing her that her music professor was going to be away for at least another week. Always on the lookout for new possibilities to expand awareness of the Think System, Harold was traveling to the University of Iowa in Iowa City to meet with the Dean of the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, who supervised the School of Music at the university. Apparently, Mr. Gallup had kindly arranged this meeting for him, and he couldn't pass up this valuable opportunity.

Upon reading this telegram, Marian immediately sent back her hearty congratulations, and promised she would kiss the girls goodnight for him. As the librarian headed home, she cheerfully related her husband's good fortune to friends and acquaintances she met on the way. It wasn't until she was concealed behind her closed front door and heavy curtains that she burst into tears. It had been difficult enough to get through two weeks with the possession of these photographs and fear of their discovery wearing on her conscience; how could she bear yet more time until the issue would be satisfactorily resolved?

And although Marian conceded it would be foolish for Harold to turn down this meeting with the dean, the fact that he didn't give her a concrete date of return made her all the more upset. Perhaps his wanderlust was resurfacing, after all. The librarian had managed to keep such pessimistic thoughts in check during the previous two weeks, but now she gave full rein to her inclination to brood.

And the more Marian thought about things, the worse the situation seemed to be. As wistful as Harold had sounded when telling her he had to go, and as tenderly as he had made love to her the night before his trip, by the time morning rolled around he had apparently gotten quite used to the idea of leaving River City. Gone was the hesitant husband with the gloomy expression; Harold was dressed, packed and ready to go even before Marian or the girls had stirred in their beds. And when the music professor kissed the women in his life goodbye, he left with his usual chipper grin, as if he was merely on his way to the emporium.

Perhaps he was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to have as joyous and rollicking of an adventure as he did in his bachelorhood. Being much bigger places than River City, Des Moines and Iowa City were likely to possess several gorgeous and sophisticated women who were more than capable of tempting the fancy of a well-traveled man like Harold. Marian had never been jealous of the attention her husband received from the women in River City – not even the fawning of the young, attractive and unattached females bothered her. But upon further reflection, she did note that her husband still possessed the ability of making any woman he talked to feel beautiful and desirable – even the more-reserved matrons became cheerful chatterboxes when in his company. And no matter how much nonsense their prattle was, his attention remained entirely focused on them; he had the wonderful trick of gazing at a woman and smiling at her as if he had never heard anything so interesting or insightful. Small wonder that females of all ages blossomed and came alive around him – had not even she, who promised herself that no man would ever breach her defenses, eventually surrendered when assailed by his inexorable charms? Marian was wholly his – and Harold seemed content to remain wholly hers in return. But freed from the influence of her presence, would he be lured away from his love by the alluring novelty of a pretty stranger?

Relentlessly, Marian examined their recent conversations, looking for clues that her husband's attentions had begun to wander even before he had left River City. One exchange that immediately came to mind was an evening a few months ago when they were reading together on the sofa. Out of the blue, Harold had grinned, closed his book and leaned over to whisper in her ear:

"Here's something for a gal to ponder. The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything."

For that sentiment, Marian rewarded him with a well-deserved smack on the arm and, for good measure, she retorted with another Nietzsche quote: "For the woman, the man is a means: the end is always the child."

In response, Harold merely chuckled and said, "Or twins, as the case may be!" Then he pulled her into his arms and revealed his primary motive for engaging in such conversation: "But that doesn't explain why you still make love to me with passionate abandon, now does it?"

As he nibbled playfully at her neck, Marian let out a low laugh and pressed provocatively closer to her husband. "Perhaps this issue merits further exploration?"

At that, Harold's caresses became far more fervent, and nothing more was said for quite awhile. As usual, what started out as a lighthearted exchange in the parlor inevitably led to a heated tryst in the bedroom, where they had indeed made love with passionate abandon. Although Marian had fondly revisited this night in her memory on several subsequent occasions, now she felt only dread when recalling it. Perhaps she had loved Harold too passionately, too possessively. Perhaps it wasn't that Harold was losing interest in her, but instead was a bit taken aback by their fervor – for all his experience, he had never been this intimate with anyone. And unintentionally or not, Marian had always been able to get him to reveal much more of himself than he was comfortable with. After decades of unbridled freedom, being a husband, father and pillar of the community could prove emotionally taxing; perhaps he was taking a little time away from them all to recover.

But what if Harold never recovered enough to fathom returning to River City, and decided it would be easier and more pleasurable to revert to his old conman ways, instead?


	2. Pride Goeth Before the Fall

However, Harold did end up returning to River City, rendering Marian's concerns of resurging wanderlust moot. But even when her music professor bounded through the front door, plunked his suitcase on the floor and caught her in a joyful hug, the librarian's apprehensions didn't disappear entirely. In the month of her husband's absence, the seed of anxiety in her mind had sprouted into a full-fledged oak tree of worry.

Despite her lingering disquiet, Marian found herself nestling in her husband's arms and warmly responding to his welcome-home kiss. And when their lips finally parted, she couldn't help clinging to Harold and confessing how much she had missed him. To his credit, he responded with similar, earnest endearments – at any rate, he did not speak in his bright "showy" voice or flash his incandescent "salesman" smile at her as he expressed such sentiments.

But when their embrace ended and Marian beheld her husband's relaxed, smiling face, she remembered with a flash of irritation just how irksome his blithe capriciousness was. His arrival was not totally unexpected – a few days ago he had sent a telegram informing her he'd be home "in a day or two" – but it was enough of a surprise that Marian was caught off guard.

"I wish you had told me you were coming home this evening," she chided, attempting to keep her tone light. "Why didn't you send a telegram?"

"Simple," Harold said with his usual breezy unconcern. "If I told you exactly when I was planning on coming home, the whole town would have been waiting to greet me as I stepped off the train. It was hard enough getting home from the station as it is – every single person I met on the way wanted to hear all about what I did in Des Moines and Iowa City." He paused and regarded his wife with an affectionate smile. "And all I wanted to do was get home to my wife and daughters."

Marian couldn't help melting a little at this; by now, she knew her husband well enough to realize when he was being completely truthful. But she did not thaw out completely. "Well… if I had known you would be getting home this evening, I wouldn't have put the girls to bed so early."

Indeed, her irritation increased to its former levels when Harold simply shrugged and said, "Well then, I'll just take a peek into Penny and Elly's room on the way upstairs."

"I wouldn't disturb them," she said coolly. "They've been fussy all day, and I had a terrible time getting them to fall asleep in the first place." When Harold's shoulders slumped, Marian felt a genuine pang of guilt – even though she had been telling the truth. So she added in a kinder voice, "Then again, it has been awhile since they've seen their father. I suppose we could make an exception just this once… "

"No, no," Harold assured her with an understanding smile. "If Penny and Elly have been fussy, it's best they're left alone." He gazed pensively at her, and she knew he was noting her rumpled clothes, pale complexion and weary eyes. "Besides, I don't want to make things more difficult for you – you look like you could use some extra sleep, yourself."

At that, Marian's sense of pique deepened even further. If he _really_ wanted her to sleep well, why hadn't he come home when he promised – or at least given her a concrete date he was planning to return? If he _really_ cared about not adding to her burdens, why hadn't thrown away those horrid photographs years ago, before she came to live with him? But Marian managed to quell the powerful urge to let loose this blistering tirade upon her unsuspecting husband, and instead politely asked him to tell her more about his trip.

As Harold cheerfully held forth at length about his onerous but ultimately successful attempts to find a decent supplier at a reasonable price, the librarian tried to convince herself that it was foolish to be so upset about such trifles. While it was true her husband hadn't given her a definite date of return, his reasons for being vague were both practical and touching. And while it was also true that he hadn't thrown away those scandalous photographs of his own accord, the fact he had stowed them in such an out-of-the-way place showed just how little they meant to him. And they had been buried so deeply that it was unlikely anyone would have accidentally or even purposely unearthed them; if Marian hadn't been so thorough in her housecleaning, she and her husband might have lived out the rest of their lives happily unaware of the volatile contents of his old trunk.

Indeed, the sensible side of Marian laid out extremely compelling arguments not only for forgiving Harold, but not even mentioning the photographs to him at all. But after three long weeks of loneliness and uncertainty, her heart still insisted on clinging to hurt feelings. If they had been able to discuss the matter as soon as it arose, Marian knew she wouldn't be in such an irrational frame of mind – which made this stubborn emotional malaise all the more maddening and fueled a fresh burst of resentment toward her husband. If only he had come home sooner!

It certainly didn't help matters that Harold spoke of Mr. Gallup in unusually glowing terms – instead of deriding the man as "that mealy-mouthed reporter," he now colloquially referred to him as "Fred" – and also frequently mentioned his name in conjunction with a "Lucy." Apparently, Mr. Gallup had found himself a wife at last, and they had just returned from a month-long honeymoon in Niagara Falls. According to Harold, Lucy was not only beautiful, but she was also quite the accomplished actress and singer – at any rate, Mr. Gallup certainly doted on her.

"And what does his wife think of him?" Marian asked curiously as Clara's expression of confident seductiveness floated through her mind.

"Oh, she absolutely adores Fred," he said with a wave of his hand. "Marriage has certainly been a wonderful thing for him. Remember how he used to adopt a serene demeanor, nonchalantly moving through the world as if he were merely a detached observer? Well, he's so sweet on Lucy that he's now as warm and welcoming as any man who's deeply in love and happily married. I thought I was going to have quite a hard time of it convincing him to give me an 'in' with the University of Iowa's administration, but he couldn't wait to do me a favor!"

The librarian's stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly. "So traveling to Iowa City was all your idea?"

Looking pleased with his cleverness, the music professor nodded. "I figured while I was away, I might as well kill two birds with one stone. I've always wanted to look into the possibility of establishing the Think System at a university or, failing that, pick up a few refinements that I might be able to apply to the emporium's curriculum. Fred leapt at the chance to arrange a meeting with the dean, and he and Lucy also came to Iowa City with me – Fred wanted to visit with old friends and introduce me and his wife to them." He let out a gleefully triumphant laugh. "By the time we left, I had met and befriended everyone who had anything to do with music at that university. This is going to bode wonderfully for expanding the Think System into new territory!"

"Sounds like you had a wonderful time," Marian muttered. "You and Fred and Lucy."

Her terseness was not lost on Harold; he immediately took her hands in his and planted several persuasive kisses upon them. "Darling, I missed you every minute of every day. Seeing Fred and Lucy together only made your absence worse – it reminded me just how far away I was from the woman _I_ love."

Marian longed to retort that for a man who professed to miss his wife so much, he certainly took his sweet time in coming home, but she gave her husband a gracious smile instead. "Well, I'm glad Mr. Gallup managed to find the happiness he was looking for."

Harold grinned. "Actually, the story of how he ended up meeting and marrying his wife is just as amazing and romantic as ours. Remind me to tell you about it sometime."

"Why not tell me now?" she asked, mystified.

"Because I'm in the mood to make a little romance of my own," he replied in his low, velvety voice, and pulled her into his arms.

But romance wasn't something Marian could pretend enthusiasm for – although she tried her best. So it was no surprise that Harold's lips had barely touched hers before he pulled back to look searchingly in her eyes. "Marian, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she insisted, trying not to sound snappish. "I'm simply tired – it's been a long day."

He frowned at her. "The heck there isn't anything wrong – I've been gone for nearly a month, and you're kissing me like you wish I'd just go away and leave you alone!"

For one awful moment, Marian couldn't reply; she suddenly felt the urge to weep.

Harold's expression softened. "Darling?" he asked tenderly, putting a gentle finger under her chin.

The confession burst out of her. "I cleaned out the attic a few weeks ago," she admitted, her tone half accusatory, half guilty. "When I was going through your old things, I – I found something."

To her surprise and annoyance, Harold looked more intrigued than alarmed. "Oh? What did you find?"

Once again, Marian's pride came to her rescue. Disengaging herself from her husband's embrace, she drew herself up to her full height. "Why don't you wait for me in the parlor while I go get it?" she said politely but ominously, and turned to go upstairs.

XXX

Of all the possible homecomings Harold imagined, he had never envisioned this: pacing somewhat nervously in the parlor while his aggrieved wife went upstairs to fetch whatever it was in their attic that had upset her. He couldn't help chuckling at the predicament in which he found himself – whatever life was in River City, it certainly wasn't boring!

When Harold had left town in the middle of May, the blossoms on the trees were just starting to open. By the time he returned, River City was deep into June; the foliage was summer-green and the streets were littered with dried petals that swirled around his feet as he hastened home from the freight depot. As a man who had traveled often, Harold was keenly aware of the transience of the seasons and, although he wasn't given to poetic reflection, this stark reminder of life's ephemeral nature made him uneasy. What else had changed in the month while he was away?

Dismissing such melancholy thoughts with a chuckle, the music professor shook his head at his foolishness and quickened his pace. He _must_ be tired, if he was ruminating on old, dead blossoms when he had a beloved wife and two dear daughters eagerly awaiting his return! And Harold was just as keen to be reunited with his family; if he hurried, he might just get home in time to kiss Penny and Elly goodnight.

When Harold finally arrived at the charming Victorian and caught Marian in his arms, he delighted in the way she clung to him as she returned his affectionate greeting. Perhaps he ought to have been warned by her fervor – looking back on it, he realized there was a definite tinge of desperation in her embrace, as if she had been entertaining the possibility that he wouldn't come home.

But at the time, such notions didn't really register – although Harold was quick to note his wife's strange aloofness as he told her about his trip. Even then, he dismissed this as having inadvertently caught her in a cantankerous mood; perhaps he should have been a little more forthright about the time of his return, especially as he had missed out on seeing his daughters before they were put to bed for the evening. Initially, Harold had been planning to refresh himself with a meal and a hot bath before suggesting to his wife that they retire, but upon seeing how gloomy Marian's demeanor became during the course of their conversation, he quickly decided it was more important to demonstrate with candid affection just how much he had missed her.

Even though he knew his wife wasn't in the best of moods, he had still been stunned by her lukewarm response to his kiss, and further taken aback when she confessed just what was bothering her. Genuinely mystified, Harold racked his brains in an effort to figure out just what she could have found in their attic, but it was no use. He could barely keep track of his often-used possessions – let alone anything he had put into storage! But when Marian asked him to wait for her in the parlor while she retrieved the source of her dismay, Harold was shrewd enough to realize this wasn't a request, and acquiesced without protest. But he wondered if he should have followed her upstairs, anyway. Because by then, the music professor had the unpleasant inkling that no matter what he did, things weren't going to go well for him.

Indeed, the disgust in Marian's expression was evident as she descended the stairs and handed him what she'd discovered.

Upon reaching into the sock and pulling out the photographs, Harold had a sudden shock of recognition. "Oh – I'd wondered where those went!" he blurted without thinking.

For a moment, Marian looked like she was going to cry – or unleash a furious tirade upon his head. But she bit her lip and said stiffly, "They were at the bottom of your old traveling trunk."

Berating himself for his clumsy reaction to his wife's discovery – even if it was borne of exhaustion, he ought to have known better – Harold hastily explained, "I didn't _miss _them, if that's what you're thinking. I haven't seen or thought of those pictures for years. Back when I first moved into this house and was culling possessions from my former life, I never ended up coming across them. So at the time, I wondered where they went."

"Is that it, indeed?" Marian asked in a cold voice, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "I must say, it seems awfully strange that a man who was so eager to convince people that a harmless pool table would destroy the very moral fabric of their town could be so cavalier about leaving potentially illegal photographs lying around. If anyone knew you had those pictures, both our reputations and perhaps even our livelihoods would be ruined!"

Fervently wishing he'd had the presence of mind to pretend he hadn't immediately recognized the photographs, Harold paused and took a deep breath to prepare himself for the long, difficult road he'd have to travel to attain the prim librarian's forgiveness. "Marian," he said shrewdly, going directly to the heart of her indignation, "those pictures mean absolutely nothing to me. They haven't for awhile – the last time I laid eyes on them was before I even came to River City. Because I hadn't seen them for so long, I figured I'd gotten rid of them already. Apparently, I hadn't, and I'm sorry. I'll destroy them immediately."

Her expression still chagrined, Marian turned away from him. "You're just lucky it was me who found the pictures – and not someone who would tattle around town!"

Biting back the sharp retort hovering on the tip of his tongue, Harold turned his attention to the offending photographs and tore them into pieces small enough to make recognition difficult, should a few shreds accidentally end up scattered over the carpet like his wife's errant hairpins. Once he completed this task, he walked over to the fireplace and unloaded his pile into it. As the papers floated to the bottom like harmless confetti, he assembled a bundle of kindling and struck a match.

When Harold attempted to coax a fire into existence, Marian whirled around to face him. "What are you doing?" she gasped. "The neighbors are sure to find the sight of smoke rising from our chimney awfully suspicious! What if they talk?"

"They can chatter and theorize all they want," Harold said staunchly. "But it doesn't matter what they say, as long as all the evidence is destroyed. There very well might be a law against those pictures, but as far as I know there's no law saying a man can't enjoy a cozy fire in his own fireplace – even if it is June. And besides," he added, his voice darkening slightly, "it _is_ a tad chilly, this evening."

Marian glowered at the music professor, but let him proceed. Unsurprisingly, even after he had personally overseen that each and every picture was converted into ashes, her dissatisfaction lingered, and she turned away from him again.

Although Harold still relished a good challenge every now and then, these days he valued Marian's generously-bestowed affections far more than overcoming obstacles to attain satisfaction. He was especially looking forward to a warm welcome tonight; after four weeks away, he wanted nothing more than to spend the next several hours making love to his wife. But she had gotten on her high horse again and, in his impatience and frustration, he resented having to coax her off of it.

Repressing a sigh, Harold went over to his wife and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "Darling, I wish you'd forgive me," he entreated. "It was an innocent mistake. I _am_ sorry… "

Marian didn't move away, but she didn't say anything, either. As she stood stiffly in his arms, Harold wrestled with his growing sense of exasperation – both at her stubbornness and his own carelessness. But perhaps there was something he could show her that would begin to repair the damage he had inadvertently caused. Removing his hands from his wounded wife's shoulders, Harold rummaged through his pockets.

"Marian, I'm going to prove to you that you're the only woman who matters to me," he asserted, confident as ever.

At that, she turned and gazed at him with frank curiosity, and Harold was pleased to see there was also a glimmer of hope in her eyes. He grinned; perhaps it would be easier to placate her than he thought. But _where_ were those damn photographs?

When his search ultimately proved fruitless, Marian reverted to her ice-queen demeanor, and she turned away from him again. Harold couldn't help giving a grim chuckle at this inopportune turn of events – of course he should end up misplacing something else of vital importance! He supposed he could check his suitcase for the items, but it no longer mattered whether he laid hands on what he wanted to find: Once again, he'd proven himself to be the thoughtless cad she took him for.

Perhaps Harold should have persevered in his efforts to make amends, but he remained silent. After all, there were only so many times a man could apologize for his misdeeds. Even if he could find something comforting to say, he was too annoyed to sympathize with a wife who seemed determined to remain in a snit. As Harold regarded the quietly seething librarian, his resentment increased even further. There wasn't a moment he hadn't missed her while he was away and, although his trip was enjoyable and productive, he had eagerly looked forward to the day when he could finally return home to his wife. But instead of greeting him with affection, Marian accused him of transgressions he didn't nor would ever commit – even if she hadn't said a single word to that effect, the meaning of her standoffish demeanor was plain enough. Being tired after his long trip, he certainly wasn't in the mood to reassure Marian of the things she ought to know by now.

Suddenly, Harold was struck with a disquieting thought – what if those pictures weren't the only things she discovered in the attic? Perhaps she found something else – something worse – that she wasn't telling him about. While he couldn't think what else she might have found, he had to acknowledge such a supposition wasn't out of the realm of possibility. In the past few decades, he had amassed several souvenirs from past lovers – many of which he lost or discarded – and he could no longer be sure that some other disaster wasn't lying in a dim, cobwebbed corner of the house he and Marian shared. And he couldn't afford to prolong this impasse; the quicker he ruled out this alarming possibility, the better. So as tactfully as he could, Harold made the inquiry, nervously clearing his throat at various intervals as he did so.

Predictably, Marian bristled and whirled around to face him again. "Why – is there anything else you've been keeping that I should know about?"

"Well, clearly I don't know – or I wouldn't have asked!" he retorted, letting his irritation get the better of him. "What were you doing, poking around in my old things, anyway?"

Her eyes narrowed. "If I didn't take the initiative and clean out the attic, it would never have gotten done! Why didn't _you_ do a better job of disposing of your old things?"

Too out of sorts to even attempt to finesse his words, Harold snapped, "Why can't you let it go, already? You're aware enough of my prior history that my having those photographs shouldn't have come as such a surprise!"

Marian's eyes widened and she reeled back, as if he had slapped her. As she gazed at him in disbelief – clearly, she had expected him to revert back to groveling for forgiveness – he couldn't help taking childish satisfaction in knocking her off balance.

But the next words out of her mouth, though they were soft and sad, evened the score. "How often were you and Clara together?"

Harold shifted uncomfortably. Clara was an actress and a burlesque dancer who lived in New York City. She had been more than a one-time affair – of all the women Harold looked up when he passed through the city, Clara had been the one he went back to the most. He certainly wasn't about to tell his wife this – even though he hadn't seen Clara for over a decade. But she was waiting for him to answer, and he had to say something.

In a classic display of diversion that nevertheless reflected his genuine fatigue, Harold sighed and, lifting his hand to his forehead, pressed his finger and thumb against his throbbing temples. "Marian," he said wearily, "do we really have to do this?"

"There's a world of difference between knowing something, and seeing it with one's own eyes," she said sullenly. "How do you think any woman would feel witnessing her husband's past affairs in the flesh? Especially a husband whose prior history is rife with discarded lovers!"

"They weren't all past affairs," Harold assured her – even as aggravated as he was, the pain in her voice caused him to feel some guilt. "I didn't even know some of those women – those pictures were simply a collection."

"Don't patronize me," she scolded, her demeanor growing haughty once more. "I saw the signatures – at least half of those women were past conquests!"

He could find nothing to say to that.

The dismay in Marian's expression intensified. "But… you told me you never went back to any woman more than once."

It wasn't often the perceptive librarian so completely and willfully misunderstood him. "What?" he stammered, flabbergasted. "I never said anything of the kind! I told you I never had any long-term affairs – there's a crucial difference."

Marian shook her head. "You're simply hiding behind semantics," she said in a bleak, disillusioned voice.

"I wouldn't call looking up a woman once every few years a long-term affair," Harold replied with a derisive laugh. "Especially as neither of us was faithful or even wrote to the other in the interim!" He reached out and grabbed his wife's hands, holding her to him lest she turn away again. "But why don't you just come right out and say it – you regret marrying me!" he resentfully accused her. "Even though you assured me over and over again that you accepted my past, warts and all! If you had found those photographs before we married, you wouldn't have gone through with the wedding, would you?"

She glared at him. "Well, maybe I wouldn't have!"

There was a sudden, awful jolt in the pit of his stomach, and Harold felt his face blanch. If Marian had set out to hurt him, she had succeeded admirably. Dropping her hands and turning away, he struggled against the furor of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Shock, dismay, anguish and rage wrestled for dominance within him, and it would only be a matter of time before one of them breached his defenses. Perhaps he should have left the room, but he couldn't help himself; he turned back to look at his wife.

As Harold gaped wordlessly at Marian, she had the grace to look at least a little remorseful. But her manner was still rather aloof; she stood there silently, offering no apology for her statement. For the first time in his life, the music professor felt an intense fury toward the woman for whom he would gladly have been tarred and feathered. If his throat wasn't tied up in knots, he would have unleashed his anger in a blistering torrent of words. But he couldn't speak.

Hardly knowing what he doing, Harold took a step toward his wife. She gasped and moved backwards, nearly knocking over a lamp in her haste to retreat. Gratified to see he had knocked the pride out of Marian at last, he continued his advance until she was pressed against the wall. As she attempted to sidle away, he grasped her firmly by the shoulders. Harold had her cornered now, and he wasn't going to let her go until she explained that stinging little remark of hers to his satisfaction.

But as Marian shrank from his presence and gazed up at him with wide, frightened eyes, Harold experienced a moment of startling clarity as a rational but alarmed voice pierced the thick fog of emotion clouding his senses:

_What are you doing?_

Horrified, Harold let go of Marian and immediately scrambled to put several feet of space between them. He figured she'd take this opportunity to flee from him, but she remained frozen where she was, her eyes still riveted to his and her face still ashen with fear. His heart sinking, Harold realized that the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that their marriage would be over by the next morning – if it wasn't already damaged beyond repair. Not knowing or caring where he was going to go, the bereft music professor turned and stormed out of the house.


	3. Felling the Oak Tree

Being frightened of a man wasn't something Marian Paroo Hill was used to. Although she had often received vulgar and sometimes insistent propositions from River City's more uncouth fellows, the only would-be suitor who had ever truly unsettled her was Ed Griner – and even then, she had dispatched him and escaped his clutches easily enough. Besides, all he had wanted was a kiss (she refused to consider the probability that, in his emboldened and intoxicated state, he might have gone on to demand much more than that). But Harold had looked at her like he wanted to hurt her. Her vanity wounded, the librarian found it easy to take refuge in anger – how dare he manhandle her like that, especially when he had wounded her just as much with his own cutting remarks! – even though a small part of her knew she had certainly done her fair share in contributing to their current predicament.

But being wrong was also something Marian wasn't used to. Priding herself on her perceptiveness and good sense, she only grew angry when the situation truly warranted it – like when a certain conman attempted to bamboozle her along with the rest of River City and wouldn't take no for an answer. And even after Harold had reformed, he continued to do things meriting censure – accusing her of flirting with Fred Gallup and seducing her with love-bites to distract her from inquiring about his past, for instance. In those situations, she hadn't hesitated to give the silver-tongued music professor the upbraiding he so richly deserved.

Besides, she wasn't entirely wrong. Although Harold's lapse had been unintentional, it could have caused them a lot of real difficulty, if not with the law, then with River City's more self-righteous citizens – and there were plenty of those out there. It was easy enough to brave being a pariah when one was alone, but she had two daughters to look after, and they should never be made to suffer for the sins of their father. Even if Penny and Elly were entirely undeserving of ignominy, folks might unfairly conclude that "apples don't fall far from the tree" and regard the girls with the same suspicion as they regarded their parents.

And Harold could have been a lot more sensitive of _her_ feelings. Instead, he grew defensive almost immediately after she confronted him about the photographs and, although he did apologize and destroy them, she sensed he only did so to placate her. His barely-concealed irritation as he attempted to make amends did not indicate he was a man who was truly sorry for his actions – which hurt most of all. When he had cruelly accused her of not wanting to marry him, Marian supposed it wasn't the wisest of responses to confirm his erroneous view, but she had been too upset to do otherwise. And as for his rough response to _her_ lapse…

Choking back a sob – if she starting crying now, she'd never stop – Marian snuffed out the flames in the fireplace and went upstairs to check on Penny and Elly. Thankfully, the girls had slept through their parents' terrible fight. And they continued to slumber peacefully, even when she reached down to stroke their delicate blonde curls. As the librarian tenderly regarded the two of them, she was reminded of how disappointed Harold looked when she coolly informed him that he hadn't gotten home in time to kiss his daughters goodnight…

Stifling another sob, Marian retired to bed as well. Even though sleep remained elusive, she steadfastly refused to think about Clara's mocking eyes, or Harold's angry departure – or what might become of her and the girls, should her husband decide to leave River City for good. After all, there was no use dwelling on things.

XXX

Pride was an old friend to Marian, and she welcomed its return wholeheartedly. In the days before Harold came to River City, pride allowed her to go out in public with her head held high, to walk confidently as if the insults they whispered about her did not hurt, to wear a placid expression that concealed her true loneliness. If Harold did end up deserting his family, she would bear herself in the same unruffled manner – no one would ever know the true depths of her anger and shame. Indeed, as the librarian went about town completing her errands the next morning, she wore a bright smile and stopped for several leisurely chats with friends and acquaintances. Marian played her part to perfection; not even Ethel Washburn seemed aware of her disquiet – although she did express mild surprise at the librarian's chipper-than-usual mood.

For a moment, Marian almost faltered; keeping secrets was somehow harder than it used to be. And who better to confess her concerns to than Ethel Washburn, who had also married a former conman? After all, by this point she could hardly be ignorant of the less savory aspects of her own husband's past. Although Marcellus Washburn wasn't as carnal a man as Harold, the librarian couldn't imagine he was likely to have completely disdained the pleasures of the flesh in his former life. Ethel might have understood and, even though she enjoyed indulging in idle gossip from time to time, she was wise enough to know when to hold her tongue. However, Mrs. Shinn and her ladies were approaching – this was not the time or the place for such heart-to-heart conversations. Bidding her friend farewell, Marian continued on her way before she was ensnared into another hour of idle chitchat.

But when she and the girls arrived at her mother's house for lunch early that afternoon, Mrs. Paroo took one look at her blithe expression and exclaimed, "Good heavens, me girl – what's the matter?"

"Oh, Mama," Marian sighed. She had meant to sound dismissive and carefree as she said this, but the weariness in her voice betrayed her true feelings.

Acting like any concerned mother, Mrs. Paroo immediately ushered her daughter into the house, clucking over her to such a degree that Marian realized she'd better get it over with, or she'd never have any peace. So she promised her mother that she'd tell her everything once they had finished eating and the girls were put down for their post-lunch nap. Naturally, this was accomplished with more haste than the librarian would have preferred – Mrs. Paroo was never one to dawdle when she sensed unrest in those she loved.

When Marian finally did tell her mother about the photographs she had found, Mrs. Paroo's eyes widened and she flushed scarlet. But to the librarian's chagrin, it was with repressed mirth rather than sympathetic indignation.

"Mama!" Marian cried, feeling both shocked and sore. She ought to have known her mother would react this way!

"Oh darling," Mrs. Paroo said apologetically as she wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. "I didn't mean to make light of the situation, but no one else saw the pictures and they've been destroyed, so what's the fuss? Even in River City, I'd wager there are precious few men who didn't indulge in some kind of mischief before they were married! Your own father occasionally sought comfort in other women's arms when the loneliness of losing his first wife was too much to bear."

"But Papa wasn't a charming charlatan with a taste for scarlet women – and I don't suppose _he_ left behind a collection of revealing photographs for you to find," Marian said resentfully.

"No, he didn't," her mother conceded. "But even so, why let the ghosts of the past spoil a happy marriage?"

"It may not be so happy anymore," Marian said in a glum voice. "When Harold came home last night, I confronted him about his photographs. We fought and – he walked out."

Mrs. Paroo nodded as if this wasn't news to her. "Yes, Winthrop mentioned Professor Hill wasn't his usual cheerful self at band practice this morning. I had wondered what that was about!"

Marian's eyes widened. "Harold's at the emporium?" she gasped, feeling dizzy with relief. Perhaps he hadn't deserted them, after all…

Mrs. Paroo laughed. "Of course he is, me girl – where else would he be? Back in Des Moines? What is there for him in Des Moines, or anywhere else?"

"Well, I don't know," the librarian stammered. She hadn't really thought about where Harold went – she hadn't wanted to think about it.

"He's not likely to wander very far from you or the girls," her mother scoffed. "I've never seen a man so besotted with his family!"

"Well… even so, he's not likely to come home for awhile," Marian said unhappily. "Not tonight, certainly – and probably not tomorrow, either."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Mrs. Paroo said with a knowing twinkle in her eye. "When he fell for you, he fell hard. And when he does come home again, you'd do well to make amends!"

Marian felt that awful temptation to cry again. Taking a few deep breaths to compose herself, she confessed, "I _want_ to make amends… I know I can't fault Harold for things he did before he even met me. I had hoped that as we built our own history together, Harold's past would haunt me less. And I could forget about it – as long as it remained an abstract idea. But after everything we've shared together, to see actual proof of his prior affairs hurt more than I ever could have imagined. Even if there won't be another woman after me, those pictures were a stark reminder that, no matter how deeply he loves me, I'll always be one of many."

Mrs. Paroo regarded her daughter with a sympathetic expression. "Marian," she said softly but shrewdly, "if Professor Hill hadn't been the man he was, you two wouldn't have met."

At that, Marian could no longer hold her tears back; they poured down her cheeks in steady streams. "I know, Mama," she said brokenly. "But there's no guarantee that Harold will always feel as strongly about me as he does now. And there are always other women waiting around the corner, especially for a man like him! Oh – of all the men in the world, why did I have to fall in love with a womanizing conman?"

Mrs. Paroo reached out and enfolded her daughter in a comforting hug.

XXX

Although Marian didn't end up leaving her mother's until well after dinner, the house was still empty when she and the girls arrived home. The sun was setting, but she did not put Penny and Elly to bed immediately; instead, she sat on the parlor couch and read to them. However, the girls soon grew fidgety and squirmed in her lap, as if they were sensing and reacting to the turmoil in their mother's heart. But Marian knew they were simply tired after a long day – after Penny and Elly had awakened from their afternoon nap, she and her mother spent the remainder of their visit focusing on the girls. Still, the librarian was unwilling to relinquish her daughters' diverting company just yet, and tried playing with them. Even then, they whined and fussed – it was time for them to go to sleep.

As Marian scooped up Penny and Elly and made her way toward the stairs, her gaze fell on Harold's suitcase, which was still resting in the front hall. Her husband had not taken it with him when he left the night before. The librarian had been wrestling with her conscience all last night and today about that suitcase – should she leave it alone, or should she open it and put things away?

Normally, Marian wouldn't have hesitated to unpack Harold's suitcase. After all, she was the one who rifled through his pockets for odds and ends before she did the laundry, opened and responded to all his mail at home and at the emporium, and cleaned out his desk and dresser drawers when they got too crammed to close properly. Processing the contents of Harold's suitcase was no different than anything else she did in the course of keeping her husband organized. But after what she had found in his traveling trunk, she had a hard time bringing herself to go through any more of Harold's things.

Still, Marian couldn't leave this item downstairs indefinitely, as guests might wonder about its presence. She supposed she could simply move it to their bedroom and wait for Harold to come home and deal with it, but who knew when that would happen? Sleeping tonight was going to be difficult enough, without his suitcase standing in the corner of the room as a constant reminder of his absence.

In the end, Marian decided to handle the matter herself. Thankfully, as her sensible side had surmised, Harold's suitcase turned out to be nothing more than a disorganized mishmash of wrinkled suits, crumpled socks and undergarments, creased music scores, fat piles of business cards bound together with twine, mouthpieces for various instruments and other musical tidbits. And the librarian's steadily growing sense of guilt was only compounded when she discovered, carefully tucked away in a hidden pocket of the suitcase, an exquisite silver heart locket with a rose etched on the front – and a small _M _entwined in the rose's leaves. Along with the locket, Marian also found two cornflower-blue ribbons – one with an embroidered _P_ and one with an embroidered _E_ – that would look lovely against her daughters' honey-blonde curls.

The final items Marian discovered in the hidden pocket were two dog-eared photographs. The first picture was a formal pose of Penny and Elly in their christening gowns. The second was an impromptu snapshot of herself and her husband from their courting days. Shortly after Harold and Marian got engaged, Mrs. Paroo had brought out the brownie and insisted on taking a picture of the two of them outside. Harold suggested the swing in the front yard, and Mrs. Paroo found the idea delightful. The music professor, of course, grinned merrily for the camera as he did for anything else. While the librarian's pose was much more demure, her lips curved in a small smile and the happiness in her eyes was evident to anyone who looked at the photograph. Perhaps that was because her fiancé's arm had surreptitiously snaked its way around her waist a few seconds before her mother took the picture…

Lest a tear escape and smudge the photograph, Marian placed the items on her end table and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes as the oak tree of worry finally uprooted and fell for good. Even if her mother's remark about Harold being so besotted with her and the twins was a bit hyperbolic, it was clear that she and the girls were the only women in his life now. And she had all but accused him of being unfaithful and roving! _But at least I finally understand what I should have known all along_, Marian ruefully reflected. _If I do lose my husband, it will be solely because of my own folly!_

Normally, the orderly librarian would have put the photographs, locket and ribbons back where she found them, but she couldn't bring herself to let them go, and took them down to the parlor with her instead. She still didn't know when Harold was planning to come home, and what his mood would be when he did, but at least she could draw comfort from this physical proof that her worries were groundless. He _would_ come home – it was just a matter of when.


	4. An Ardent Reunion

Another lonely hour passed. Marian spent it sitting in the parlor's bay-window seat, gazing at the Evening Star and trying not to cry as she remembered all of the kisses, caresses, ardent words and loving looks Harold had given her over the past few years – along with everything he had ever done to establish a legitimate career and secure a permanent residence so he could build a life with her.

In the midst of the self-recrimination that followed these ruminations, Marian thought she heard the front door creak open and then click shut, but she was too upset to pay much attention. How many times this evening had her heart leapt with anticipation at the slightest sound, only for her hopeful mood to dissipate when it turned out the noise was just the house settling? Marian wouldn't be disappointed again; she didn't even allow herself to turn around when she heard the quiet but unmistakable footsteps of someone entering the parlor.

"Marian?" came the soft, hesitant voice of her husband.

The repentant librarian immediately got to her feet and rushed to give Harold the greeting she should have offered when he returned the night before: throwing her arms around him, she covered his face with kisses. "I'm so sorry, Harold," she said brokenly. "I should never have been so cross with you over such a foolish trifle, and I should never have said those terrible things. Even as I was saying them, I knew I wrong, but I couldn't help myself. I know you never meant to hurt me, so I tried to be sensible. But then I would remember Clara's smug smile and mocking eyes, and reason was overwhelmed by sheer emotion. When it comes to loving you, I'm completely and utterly irrational, and I've hurt you with my petty jealousy. I can't believe you came home, after the way I treated you – " She began to sob in earnest, and couldn't say another word.

Harold wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "Oh darling," he said, tenderly and sympathetically – and there was relief in his voice, as well. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're hurt, and you've got every right to be. I'm the one who's been irrational and petty. You loved me and overlooked my former misdeeds, but that doesn't mean you're required to swallow your feelings when seeing proof of them. Even a woman as generous and forgiving as you would have difficulty when confronted with such concrete evidence of her husband's past transgressions, and I ought to have been more understanding of that. I should have done a much better job in getting rid of any lingering vestiges of my past. But in my grand schemes I sometimes forget the details – and as they say, that's where the devil is." He pulled away and met her eyes with his, looking at her with an uncharacteristically nervous expression. "I hope this lapse didn't prove to be my undoing."

In response, Marian excused herself to retrieve the photographs, locket and ribbons, which she had left on the bay-window seat in her rush to greet her husband. Handing the items to Harold, she said shyly, "I've also heard it said that God is in the details, darling. Forgive me, but I couldn't bear leaving your suitcase unpacked, and I found these in the inside pocket. I'm sorry I spoiled the lovely surprises you were planning."

If he was offended by her actions, he didn't show it; after carefully placing his photographs and gifts on the nearest end table, Harold caught her in a hug. "I don't have anything to hide from you, Marian," he assured her, and then paused. "Although… you might want to let me take a look through the rest of my old things in the attic, just to make sure."

She smiled against the lapel of his suit-coat. "That won't be necessary, Harold – I found those photographs at the very end of my cleaning. There's nothing left for you to go through. And as for burning the pictures – I should have done that the day I first found them."

Harold had tensed for a moment as she spoke, but now he relaxed again. "Then I definitely don't have anything I wouldn't hesitate to show you," he said, and she rejoiced to hear the sincerity in his voice. "You can unpack my suitcase anytime you want."

"But everyone deserves privacy, and I ought not to have pried into yours," Marian said sensibly. "Normally, I wouldn't have gone through your things, but I wasn't sure when" – _and for how long_, she thought sadly – "you were planning to come home."

His arms tightened around her. "Darling, I could never stay away from you or our girls for too long. I went right to the emporium after I left, and that's where I've been, all last night and today. I thought it best if we both had a little time to cool off." Harold swallowed. "But I should never have frightened you the way I did, and I swear I'll never give you cause to look at me with scared eyes again – no matter how angry I get. That's one thing I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for." His voice grew soft as he entreated, "Tell me what I can do to make it up to you – I'll do anything you want."

Marian shook her head. "No, Harold – I need to guard my tongue more carefully. In my anger, I deliberately provoked you, and you showed admirable restraint. I'm the one who needs to make things up to you."

"Perhaps, my dear little librarian," Harold suggested, "we ought to make things up to each other."

Wondering if there was an element of flirtation in his remark, Marian pulled back to look at her husband. But there was no twinkle in his eye or smile on his face; his expression was both grave and yearning. She was about to give her assent, but her eyes must have beaten her lips to it; Harold covered her mouth with his before she could speak the words. Marshaling her wits as quickly as she could, Marian silently but passionately demonstrated her approval of his suggestion. Quite conscious of the fact that she hadn't seen her beloved music professor for nearly a month, the librarian molded her body to his, delighting when she felt him press eagerly against her in return. Soon they were both gasping in each other's embrace, and Marian grew faint with longing – so much so that she seriously considered letting herself collapse into the nearest chair and taking Harold along with her. At this point, she did not particularly care where they were or where they ended up; she simply wanted her husband and, after four long weeks without him, she could not wait another minute.

As Marian's knees began to buckle, Harold tightened his hold on her and ended their kiss. "Darling, let's go upstairs," he urged in a hoarse whisper.

Marian's lips curved in a small smile and, although she halted in falling, she did not straighten her legs. "We could stay in the parlor."

Now it was Harold's turn to shake his head, and he did so vehemently. "I haven't been with you in so long, Marian – I don't want our reunion to be somewhere cramped and uncomfortable. I want to make love to you properly, in our bed. I want to undress you slowly, and look at you, and touch you and kiss you everywhere, and make love to you until we're both delirious from pleasure and exhaustion. And when we're done making love, I want to hold you close and drift off to sleep with you in my arms." At this point, a little of his charming mischievousness seemed to resurface, as he grinned and added, "We can save the sofa for tomorrow night."

Undone by Harold's eloquence, Marian stood up straight and, when he took her hand in his and led her upstairs, she went without protest. However, as they were crossing the threshold to their bedroom, the librarian thought of the perfect retort to her husband's playful remark about the sofa. But when the door closed behind them and Harold turned to face her once more, the seriousness and sincerity of his heated look made her solemn as well, and Marian no longer had anything to say. Harold did not speak either and, although he paused to make sure the curtains were closed, he did not extinguish a single lamp before he started to remove her clothing. This did not trouble her in the slightest. If he had tried to darken their room, Marian would have objected; she wanted the lights blazing so she could look at him, and he could look at her, and she could see him looking at her.

Indeed, they undressed each other tenderly and carefully, observing each other's nakedness with such spellbound avidity that it almost felt to Marian like they were making love for the first time. Only she was no shy maiden; in addition to welcoming her husband's ardent caresses, she also responded with several of her own. For the most part, Harold seemed happy enough to relax in his ministrations for a moment so he could enjoy her attentions, but when she kissed her way down into a kneeling position before him, he grasped her by the arms and tugged her to her feet again.

But Marian wasn't inclined to acquiesce as she had downstairs; she had promised to make things up to him just as much as he had vowed to demonstrate the depth of his apology to her. It wasn't fitting that he should take the lead the entire time.

Once again, Harold addressed her protests before she could even open her mouth. "Believe me, my dear little librarian, if you had done that any other night, I wouldn't have stopped you," he averred, his voice so choked with rueful longing that she had to strain to hear him. "But tonight I want you too much, I'd never last… "

If he said anything more after that, Marian was unaware of it; she pulled him to her and they tumbled to the bed in a passionate haze. As her husband entered her, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, ready to lose herself in the breathless ecstasy that was already building within her.

But Harold had barely begun to make love to her when he let out a strangled groan, and stopped moving entirely.

Her eyes flew open, and she gazed at him in alarm. "Darling, what's the matter?"

"Marian," he gasped, "I'm not even going to last long enough for this!"

"Is that it?" Marian couldn't contain her relieved mirth. "For heaven's sake, Harold – I thought you had injured yourself!" she admonished in between giggles. When he looked even more chagrined by her reaction, her expression softened into one of apologetic sympathy, and she reached up to brush a curl out of her disappointed husband's eyes. "Darling, it's quite all right," she reassured him. "We have all night to make up for lost time, as well as all day tomorrow. Mama is already looking after Penny and Elly for me, and I'll have Jane take my shift at the library – she's been asking for extra hours."

But even the promise of a full day alone together – and taking time away from the library was not an offer Marian made lightly – did not soothe Harold. His frown deepened as he replied, "After everything you've been through in the past few weeks, I refuse to disappoint you _now_."

Although she longed for him to continue, no matter what happened, Marian nodded understandingly. "Then just hold me for awhile, darling," she said, her tone both comforting and entreating.

Letting out a ragged sigh, Harold buried his face in the crook of her neck. Initially, she tried to lay motionless, even though his uneven breathing and racing heartbeat inflamed her desire. But their present circumstances soon made it too tempting to remain entirely still; Marian raked her fingers through her husband's hair and lightly ran her hands up and down his sides, making him shiver. In return, he nuzzled the hollow of her throat, making her sigh blissfully as she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Harold… I've missed you so much," she murmured. "The nights have been so lonely without you… and the longer you were gone the more I started to wonder if you remembered what you were missing, and dreaded coming home to a wife you no longer desired… " She trailed off for a moment as her throat tightened and tears pricked at her eyes. "I wondered if after two years and two children you would want me as much as you did the first time we made love… "

"Oh, Marian," Harold said sadly, propping himself up on his elbows and looking her in the eyes. "When I was away, all I could think about was getting home to you and the girls as soon as I could. The nights were lonely for me as well – I wished you were there so badly that it often kept me awake until I passed out from sheer exhaustion. Not want you as much? Marian, I want you more. I have never had with any woman – not Clara, not Eileen, not anyone – even half of what I have with you. And you had my heart for longer than you know. I can't remember the exact moment it happened, but I started to realize I was yours by the time we shared our first strawberry phosphate together. I wanted you, Marian, and for more than just carnal pleasure – though I couldn't admit that to myself at the time." He chuckled. "I was so gone over you that when you left your strawberry phosphate behind, I drank the rest of it!"

If Harold had told her this at any other time, she would have been scandalized. But now, Marian found it the most romantic thing he had ever said to her. She smiled and allowed delight to color her voice as she asked, "Why did you do that?"

Harold demonstrated the same raw honesty with his answer: "Because your lips had touched the straw."

Marian gazed at him, awed. "You were that desperate to kiss me?"

"Marian," he said quietly, "I still am."

There was only one appropriate response to that: Marian pressed her lips against his. Harold had also clearly reached the limits of his restraint; he started to make love to her again. Although he moved much more carefully than was usual for him, she did not find the tentative pace maddening – his fervent declarations more than made up for the lack of strenuous physical activity. And to Marian's surprise and delight, her husband confessed in heated whispers all the things that had been in his heart that day:

_Indeed, Harold gleefully imagined all the things he would whisper in Marian's ear the moment he got her alone that night. It would be the usual song-and-dance routine he gave to the gal who was the target of his con: how she had caught his eye the moment he came to town; how she was the most beautiful, fascinating woman he had ever met; how he had never known anyone who affected him the way she did; how they were both lonely people, despite the difference in their backgrounds; and how when he spent time with her, she made him forget that ache. And as Harold ardently trailed his mouth across Marian's alluring neck, the skillful caresses of his hands and lips turning her soft sighs into impassioned moans, he would tell her he wanted nothing more than to assuage her pain as well…_

"Even though I was still a conman, I would have meant every word of what I said," he avowed. "And my feelings for you have only gotten stronger since then, Marian… "

At that, the librarian couldn't help herself; she wrapped her legs around her husband and brazenly brought her hips to his. With a groan, Harold's restraint fell away, and he began to make love to her in earnest.

During their courtship, Marian had often reflected – sometimes dreamily, sometimes nervously – on the Bible verse about a woman becoming one with her husband. But it wasn't until she was married that she realized this wasn't as figurative a description as it seemed. When she and Harold were together, Marian not only felt at one with her husband physically, but emotionally as well. And it was the same whether their lovemaking was unhurried and tender, or eager and breathless. Tonight, it was both: Sometimes Harold moved languidly within her, maddeningly drawing out her pleasure, and sometimes his pace was so furious that her pleasure intensified into exquisite agony. But it wasn't the physical that made her writhe and moan the most – it was the words her husband whispered to her as they made love. Normally, Marian would have told him many things in return, but tonight all she could do was clutch at his shoulders and sigh in rapt delight. But she knew from Harold's satisfied smile that he perfectly understood what she left unsaid.

When they finally finished, they cleaved together, utterly spent – although a glance at the clock on her bedside table informed Marian that only fifteen minutes had passed. Neither of them was inclined to end their embrace just yet, but the cool night air began to raise goose bumps on their sweat-drenched skin and made them shiver as their pulses slowed to a more normal pace. Even then, Harold's response was merely to reach down and pull the bedcovers over them. Feeling at peace for the first time since she had cleaned out their attic, Marian soon drifted off to sleep in her husband's arms.

XXX

Harold would never have told his wife this, but it did amaze him at times that, even now, he continued to want her just as much as he did when they first married. Actually, he would have to say he wanted her more: As the years passed, he fell deeper in love with Marian, which only increased his longing for her. He looked forward to their lovemaking just as much as he always did; it was a way he could express the depth of his feelings.

From the beginning of their intimacy, Harold had often whispered many things to his wife in the heat of passion. Although Marian was now accustomed to his feverish murmurings and welcomed them without maidenly embarrassment, he had always wondered if he should hold back a little, lest he frighten her – and himself – with the intensity of his desire. But Harold could never help being unreserved in his confessions; he wanted her too much to restrain himself. And even if she did so unwittingly, Marian encouraged his declarations; when passion took over, he wasn't the only one who whispered fervent endearments, or bestowed tender caresses, or moaned with unabashed pleasure. And the fact that she did these things unconsciously drove Harold wild – he had never loved anyone so passionate and yet so innocent, so honest and yet so alluring.

Being away from Marian for nearly a month had been difficult; now that they were finally reunited, Harold could barely muster up the will to extricate himself from their embrace for five minutes. But the evening was humid and he was in desperate need of water; there would be no rest for him until he slaked his thirst. His stomach was rumbling as well – he might as well see if there was anything in the icebox or pantry he could make a quick meal of, while he was up. Leaving his wife soundly and happily asleep, the music professor extinguished all the lamps but the one on his end table, and headed to the kitchen.

However, one thing led to another, and it was a half hour before Harold returned to their bedroom. By now, Marian was wide awake, and dressed in a thin cotton nightgown. She lay alone in their bed, looking dazed. But when her gaze settled on him, relief entered her expression. As he handed her a glass of water – he figured she might wake up thirsty as well – she gave him a grateful smile.

Once Marian had drained her glass and placed it carefully on her bedside table, he ventured, "A penny for your thoughts, darling."

Her smile turned wistful. "When I woke up and found you gone, I wondered how much of what happened was a dream. Even looking at you, I still can't quite believe you're home."

Extinguishing the remaining light, Harold climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around his wife. "It wasn't a dream, Marian. I _am_ home."

By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see her smile. "I know," she said earnestly.

As they settled into each other's arms, Harold told her his thoughts. "I hadn't been planning to leave our bed for so long. But when I went to look in on Penny and Elly, they were sleeping so beautifully I couldn't tear myself away. I can't believe how much they've grown since I've been gone!" Normally, Harold would have stopped speaking at this point, lest he lose his manly composure. But becoming a father had taught him the quiet joy of tenderness, so he let his eyes grow misty and allowed his voice to soften as he went on, "Marian… I look at our little girls, and I'm as awed as I was when I first laid eyes on them. I still can't believe we made them – I can't believe a scoundrel like me could be blessed with something so innocent and perfect!"

Marian laughed gently. "Fatherhood has made you awfully sentimental," she teased – although he also heard deep affection in her voice. "Our daughters are going to be dreadfully spoiled!"

Harold shook his head. "Fatherhood has made me into a kinder, better man," he averred. To prove his point, he leaned in and gave his wife several soft, sweet kisses – kisses that asked for nothing in return, but were no less ardent a demonstration of his love and regard for the woman who made this new life possible.

When he finally pulled away, he saw Marian's eyes were also glistening with unshed tears. "Harold," she said solemnly, "you told me what was in your heart the day we first shared strawberry phosphates – I want to tell you what was in mine." Leaning close, she began to whisper in his ear:

_But perhaps – just perhaps – when he called on her some warm summer night in the near future and the two of them stood alone together on her front porch, he might look at her _that_ way again, and tell her that while he couldn't stay in River City, he would always fondly remember their time together. In that case, surely there wouldn't be any harm in expressing her appreciation and affection with a warm smile… a tender hug… perhaps even a soft kiss on the cheek. And if his lips happened to meet hers, she didn't see why she couldn't allow herself a brief moment of sweet surrender…_

When Harold heard how little the librarian was expecting of him, and what she was prepared to give, he felt his heart constrict even more. "You mean after I gave you back your reputation, you would have risked it again – for a conman who wasn't planning to make you any promises?"

Marian nodded. "I was just as desperate for your kisses as you were for mine, Harold."

Wanting nothing more than to assure her that he wasn't going anywhere, Harold decided to share with her a glimpse of his future plans. "Marian – the only thing that stopped me from having you come to Des Moines as well was Penny and Elly's being less than a year old – too young to be left without their mother. But I hated our being apart so much that the next time I have to travel on business, we'll leave the girls with family, and I'm taking you with me."

Marian looked thrilled. "Oh, Harold – I'd love to travel with you!"

He grinned. "Well… I don't plan on going anywhere for quite awhile. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, but here… " As he kissed her again, this time with possessive urgency, his hands found their way beneath the hem of her nightgown. As he caressed his way up her thighs, her nimble fingers untied the sash of his robe and trailed over his stomach, chest and shoulders. Soon they were frantically removing each other's nightclothes, eager for another reunion. And there were more whispered confessions: As Harold pulled Marian close to make love to her again, he made sure to reiterate how much he loved, wanted and needed her in his life, and how he was planning to spend every day and every night reminding her of this.

The charming librarian looked up at him with that sly, enchanting smile of hers. "You're certainly doing a wonderful job of it already. But then – you certainly succeeded in winning me over that July, after all!"

"Not the way I imagined, though," the former charlatan conceded, tightening his arms around her. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Marian smiled dreamily and began to respond with similar declarations, but her words were lost in a blissful moan as Harold entered her once more. Then his mouth found hers, and the rest of their conversation was unspoken.


	5. Epilogue: Love Letters

_A/N – I was recently going through all my story notes and found some stuff I was saving for inclusion in an upcoming fic. Since I'm not sure when I'll actually get around to writing that fic due to some major (but wonderful!) life changes, I decided it made more sense to post this here._

XXX

_June 17, 1914_

Dear Marian,

Two evenings previous, just as we finally started to drift off to sleep after our long and delicious night of reconciliation, you let it slip how much you longed for a love letter from me during my time away. And as is your gracious and ladylike nature, you kindly left it unspoken that it was reassurance you desperately needed at the time. My response to you was an earnest, contrite and deep kiss that made you sigh and, in a demonstration of warm forgiveness I'm still not entirely convinced I deserved, pull me close to you for another passionate reunion.

What I should have told you right then and there is how much I longed to send you one. Strangely, despite being born with a silver tongue that could talk me into anything, I was never much of a writer. Somehow, words don't come as easily to me when I have to sit down and put them on paper. As hard as it might be for you to believe from the several sentences I've already written above, whenever I find myself holding a pen poised over a blank piece of paper, my mind seizes up and I lose any inclination I might have had to record my thoughts in the first place. But enough hemming and hawing – I'm just going to write down what was in my heart all those days and nights I was away from you. But before I do, I beg your indulgence for the errors in grammar and eccentricities of expression that will inevitably abound as I charge full steam ahead:

Leaving you and the girls was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Even knowing it was only for a short time, and that my trip to Des Moines and Iowa City would open up new avenues for the emporium that would greatly solidify our financial position, I could barely bring myself to kiss you and the girls goodbye and take that first, fateful step toward the freight depot. I know I put on a bright smile and that my kiss was not so long and deep as you would have liked, but if I'd given you too warm a farewell, I'd never have made it out the door. My resolve would have crumbled and I would have spent the rest of the morning making sweet, frantic love to you – and then how could I have let you go after that? And so, after a brisk walk to the freight depot, followed by a tedious and seemingly interminable train ride, I finally reached Fred's office in Des Moines. I hoped my business with him would provide somewhat of a diversion that would take off the keenest edge of missing you. And when he welcomed me so amiably, I was finally able to muster up a genuine smile for the first time that day.

But that night, when we went out to dinner, Fred introduced me to his wife, Lucy. They were polite and restrained in my company, but they were clearly still very much on their honeymoon, exchanging so many little looks and subtle flirtations and statements full of private meanings, all done unconsciously, all the more maddening because the woman _I _loved and longed for was all the way back in River City. At night, the silence and stillness was unbearable – I often took to pacing back and forth my hotel room until I was too worn out to do even that, and so would sink into the sheets and lie there in a vague and uneasy doze until the trill of the alarm clock soon shattered the brittle repose I'd managed to achieve. Before I met you, I was never one to remain in a woman's bed for too long after I'd gotten what I wanted, partly because I could only fall into a deep sleep when I was lying alone. But now, after having shared much more with you than I ever have or ever will share with another woman, I've discovered that I can't sleep soundly unless my dear little wife is curled up snugly beside me. So if there's ever a time in the future that I have to endure a bed without my beloved in it, I won't even bother climbing beneath the sheets.

Speaking of activities between the sheets – when Fred and Lucy and I traveled to Iowa City, we stayed in the same boarding house, though in different rooms of course. Unfortunately, though the establishment was clean and well-maintained, the walls were paper-thin. And so, I experienced something even worse than dead silence. As you can probably surmise, the reserve Fred and Lucy maintained in public completely evaporated when they were alone together – every night for the two solid weeks we were in town, I couldn't help but overhear them making love as I attempted _not_ to think about just how much I missed your presence in my bed. You may find this distasteful, but I had to come up with a rather sordid way to endure this unintended but cruel torment: I imagined it was _us_ making love, that Lucy's cries of ecstasy were yours, that Fred's groans were mine, that I was doing to you every heated, tender, passionate, furtive, wicked thing I'd ever fantasized about, and that you were loudly and shamelessly enjoying every minute of it. Mercifully, I would eventually drift off due to sheer exhaustion, and in the morning I'd wake with the renewed and fierce desire to complete my business and get home to you. I promised myself that when, at long last, I finally walked through our door and took you in my arms, I'd never set foot on another train out of River City unless you were by my side.

If the intensity of my passion for you comes across as alarming, or if you deem this letter inappropriate, I apologize. I assure you, I will not be insulted if you feel the need to consign this letter to the fire, just as you rightly put the onus on me to destroy those long-forgotten photographs I inadvertently but thoughtlessly left in my old trunk for you to stumble across. It is one thing to whisper these ardent words while making love, and quite another to immortalize such private sentiments on paper. There is always the danger of one's missive falling into the wrong hands, and I'm sure you can understand why I didn't want to risk sending such barefaced declarations through the post. No sense in contributing even more scandal to the River City party line!

But I hope that you (and any other readers whose prying eyes are presently scanning this note) will find it in your heart to overlook the coarseness of my words, to see the tenderness, devotion and fidelity I have attempted to convey to the woman I promised to forsake all others for, and cleave to for the rest of my life.

Love always,

Harold

XXX

_June 18, 1914_

Dearest Harold,

Your letter did not alarm me in the least, nor was I disgusted or scandalized by the intensity of your passion. On the contrary, I was nothing short of elated to discover your tender and heartfelt missive in my satchel today (so much so that I'm afraid that the card catalog, book return cart, and library patrons did not receive my full attention for the rest of the morning!). You may deem yourself an awkward writer, but in truth you phrase things as beautifully with a pen as you do with your lips. Your love letter means more to me than I could possibly express, and I will treasure it dearly for the rest of my life – I would never dream of destroying it! In return, I also have a few confessions I would like to make:

Harold, do you remember the night before you left for Des Moines, when we made love long and sweet and slow into the wee hours of the morning, and you left a love-bite on the inside of my thigh? In the darkness, I wouldn't have seen it, and perhaps I would never have realized its presence – but for your telling me what you'd done and why, that this love-bite was another reminder for me of how much you'd miss me and how eager you'd be to return to our bed. So every single night, even when I was furious with you over those silly pictures, I traced that love-bite with my fingers and dreamed of you pressing open-mouthed kisses against my most intimate areas until I was weeping with pleasure. When the mark finally faded, I cried bitterly. It all seems so ridiculous to fathom now, but I felt as if the last trace of you had disappeared, perhaps for good. When you did finally come home, I tried so hard to overlook my irrational anger and petty jealousy over the trifling mementos of your past I'd discovered in our attic. But you had been out and about in a world full of beautiful women, and a man like you could have any woman he ever wanted. I know you unequivocally and wholeheartedly chose me, but even now, I still can't help wondering what exactly it is you saw in this prim, spinster librarian that made you decide to relinquish a life of travel, novelty and adventure.

Yours,

Marian

XXX

_June 19, 1914_

My dear little librarian,

I _do_ remember giving you that love-bite – I fondly remembered doing that whenever I was alone in my hotel room at night. I recalled a lot of things – your kissable crimson lips and the way they part in immediate welcome beneath the heated advances of my tongue, your delightful breasts and the way you arch your back against me when I take them in my mouth, your beautiful, milk-white thighs and the enchanting little gasps you make when I kiss them, your golden curls and the way they tumble frantically over the pillow as I make love to you. You may consider yourself a prim spinster, but in reality you're the most warm and welcoming wife a man could ever ask for, darling, and my bed was terribly cold and lonely without you in it.

And lest you think I'm consumed with lust for your body alone, I also missed that no-nonsense way you have of keeping my baser instincts in line with a cutting remark when I need it, the sweet words of love and encouragement you whisper to me even if I don't always merit such tenderness, the warm way you hold me when we're in private, the fond way you look at me when we're in public, the sweet way you cuddle up next to me when we drift off to sleep together, the wonderful way our conversations stimulate and dazzle and provoke until we finally say everything that needs to be said and trail off into a silence of complete and perfect understanding. A man could travel a lifetime and never find anything half as wonderful as what we have together, and I would have been the world's biggest fool to let you slip away from me. The world might indeed be full of beautiful women, Marian, but none of them are _you_.

Returning to the matter of that love-bite – you have my solemn pledge that I will remedy its disappearance at the first available opportunity.

Yours wholly and forever,

Harold


End file.
